


at the end of darkness, born anew

by neocxxlture



Series: enter the dragon (like that movie) [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Depression, Kick It MV inspired AU, M/M, both taeyong and doyoung have their own issues, drug and alcohol abuse, fighter taeyong, kind of open ended but im planning on writing more eventually, no one dies dont worry, so gangster families and fighters and stuff, suicidal ideation/thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23171254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocxxlture/pseuds/neocxxlture
Summary: The second guy comes in. His hair is the color of icy snow, cold and harsh at a glance, just like the expression on his face. He has on a bright yellow jacket that he takes off, a dragon depicted on its back studded with glimmering, colorful jewels. He is the brightest spot in the otherwise dim room. Doyoung’s eyes fixate on him and remain glued to him for the entirety of the ensuing fight.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Series: enter the dragon (like that movie) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665661
Comments: 34
Kudos: 145





	at the end of darkness, born anew

**Author's Note:**

> kick it mv literally kicked me in the face and then i had to write this. i am not responsible for this dramatic bitch  
> stream neozone and kick it !!!! lets get that 1st win

🐉

During the day, the market around him is dull, discolored, faded.

Doyoung feels everything like it’s happening to someone else. Disconnected from his own body and mind, he is no more than an onlooker. He sees his legs move, one in front of the other, but he doesn’t feel them. Weightless, insubstantial, like a ghost – that’s what he is. That’s what he’s been for weeks now.

(Why is he still here? Why is he allowed to walk down these streets, to breathe in the different smells of the market, why is it okay for him to be left behind when everything else – everyone else – is gone?)

🐉

His nightmares are painted crimson.

No matter that he wasn’t _there_ when it happened, that he hasn’t seen any of it – it plagues his mind, nevertheless, striking in its detail. His brain fills in all the empty spaces for him, draws a picture vile enough that he wakes up gasping, nauseous, with a heat behind his eyelids that threatens to overwhelm him and like a tide pull him under the surface.

(He lets it, sometimes. When he’s too scratched raw to keep control, when he’s half-sitting half-lying on the bathroom floor, one hand gripping the toilet seat, the other closing around small pills he can barely keep in his hold, and forehead rested against the cool marble tiles of the wall, he lets the heat spill out and over his cheeks, burning hot where it runs over his skin.)

🐉

He finds a decrepit hotel at the end of one of the streets that have no working lampposts. There is only a sign above a door (corroded, dirty) that alerts him to the accommodation, a neon sign in green and yellow. The man behind the counter doesn’t ask questions; Doyoung pays and gets a rusty key for a room on the second floor that reeks of mold and dust.

🐉

He sees it in bits and pieces when he closes his eyes, all of them a different shade of red.

Sometimes it’s hard for him to recall what’s real and what isn’t. His bloodshot eyes staring back at him from the mirror (fractured, he broke it a few nights ago, couldn’t stand the sight of himself anymore) – real enough, because he can feel them burn. His mother’s hand clutching onto him, leaving bloody smears on his arms and shirt – possible, but he didn’t see her die, wasn’t there to see her in the final moments, so he doesn’t know how much blood there was on her hands.

The pill in his palm; real. Gongmyung standing in the hotel room, fresh blood running down the side of his face from a hole in his temple; somewhere in between. A wound in Doyoung’s chest, blazing, tearing his body into pieces; not real (but perhaps still true).

🐉

The gate shines bright yellow during the night, like most things do in this part of the city.

He likes this more; feels like it’s real, only in these moments. All the market streets, the crowd of people, everything washed out in bright, blinding neon – it’s only during the night that it feels like it’s all really there. (That Doyoung feels like _he_ is really there.)

🐉

He comes out of the hotel in the evening, after the sun sets, and wanders the streets. His body has needs, after all, so he needs to go out and buy food to eat, but he comes to enjoy walking amongst the people at the market. There is something about it that enchants him. Something about it that has him returning each night, though he knows he shouldn’t.

(It’s risky to stay here, he’s aware. He was aware when he arrived – he took a gamble, both parts survival instinct and a death wish. Had Gongmyung been there to witness Doyoung’s carelessness, he’d have slapped him on the back of the head so hard he would reel, but Gongmyung hasn’t been with him for a long time, and now that everyone else is gone too, there is no one to tell Doyoung to not be stupid.)

He’s not sure he wants to be found, but he’s certainly not doing anything to not be seen. He can’t find it in himself to care, anymore.

🐉

Doyoung chances upon the fighting ring by pure, random luck.

He’s walking down what seems to be an abandoned street, when he notices two people in front of him. They are clad in black; black boots, black tattered jeans and shirt, black tattoos sneaking up their arms and necks. There is a lamp light close to where they’re walking, orange, illuminating their figures and the floor and walls of the buildings around them.

Doyoung is looking at them, but then he blinks, and they’re gone. Vanished out of thin air, impossibly. One of the guys was smoking a cigarette, the butt of which Doyoung spots on the ground when he stops next to the light, still smoldering. He looks down the narrow alley, but there’s no hint of anyone. He starts to doubt he’s seeing things, that his mind is (again, again) playing tricks on him. The last pill he took was a few days ago, though. This is real – he _thinks,_ he’s here, this is happening. (Or it should be. He’s never completely certain lately.)

In a moment of fear, he reaches out to touch the wall closest to him, to make sure. He presses his palm against the cool surface, leans in, feels it under his touch; and it gives way. Doyoung stumbles back a step, retracts his hand to his chest. He worried for a splinter of a second that his hand went through, but now he sees that in the wall, a door has opened, perfectly camouflaged to not be seen unless a person knows just where to look.

The door is cracked open, and through the slit Doyoung hears a soft murmur of voices carry over to him. Curious, he pushes the door open all the way, and steps inside. He finds himself in a hallway, at the end of which another lamp is positioned, shining light on another metal door. Doyoung walks towards it, and the closer he gets, the clearer the sound of voices becomes. Opening the second door as well, he steps into a big, circular room.

There is a crowd inside, perhaps a hundred people. It’s loud, hot and humid, sweat woven into the air. In the middle of the room, there is a fighting ring, and inside it, two men, both bare chested, engaged in a fight.

Doyoung feels the heat stick to his skin as he steps closer to observe. Around him, the crowd is lively; words of encouragement and cheers can be heard. The more Doyoung looks at the pair, the way they move, the less it seems like a boxing fight – what he assumed this was, initially – and more like a performance.

It’s not just a show, though. Soon one of the men is taken down, bested by the other, and they both walk off the ring, one of them carrying a split lip with blood running down the side of his neck.

Before Doyoung has the time to ponder over whether this was the end of it, another pair of men walks into the ring to deafening roars of the crowd.

The first one to enter seems young, younger than the previous two. He has blond streaks in his brown hair and his cheeks still carry hints of baby fat, but his eyes are fierce and resolute, hard.

The second guy comes in. His hair is the color of icy snow, cold and harsh at a glance, just like the expression on his face. He has on a bright yellow jacket that he takes off, a dragon depicted on its back studded with glimmering, colorful jewels. He is the brightest spot in the otherwise dim room. Doyoung’s eyes fixate on him and remain glued to him for the entirety of the ensuing fight.

🐉

Doyoung goes three days without pills. Then everything comes rushing back at him at once, and he frantically rummages through all the drawers, cabinets, and his pockets in search of some only to discover that he’s used up his entire supply.

Only when he runs a hand through his hair (tangled, messy) he realizes his hands are shaking. He feels light and dizzy, like he’s floating a few inches off the ground, yet at the same time his stomach feels like lead pulling him to the floor. He wonders whether he’s going to be torn in two before he makes it to the door.

Once outside, he instinctively knows where to go. He had time to scope the district out after he got there, and he found a dealer on his second day that was more than happy to sell and not ask unnecessary questions when Doyoung brandished a roll of money in front of his face.

He seeks him out now, too. Doyoung bought from him a few more times during the weeks he so far spent in the neighborhood, and though Doyoung doesn’t think they’re friends, at least they’re friendly. The guy – Yuta is his name – always smiles big and bright whenever he spots Doyoung, but Doyoung knows that it’s only because he’s willing to pay whatever sum Yuta asks of him. (Doyoung doesn’t want to think of what he will do when he runs out of money. He’s still got a duffel chock full, but slowly but surely there’s less and less each time Doyoung checks.)

He knocks on Yuta’s door, one hand gripping the doorframe, knuckles turning white and painful with the effort. The door opens, but instead of Yuta’s familiar face there is someone else, shorter, smaller.

The guy frowns when he sees Doyoung, “Yes?”

Doyoung peers over his head into the room behind him, and the guy seems to notice. The next thing he says is, “Yuta’s not here.” And then, an astute observation, “You look like shit.”

Doyoung doesn’t have time for chit-chat. He hears his own voice as if coming from a great distance, “Do you sell?”

The guy stares him down – like he’s sizing him up, considering – and then steps to the side, leaving the doorway open for Doyoung to slip into the room, “Come on in.”

When the door closes after Doyoung, the guy asks, “What do you want?”

“God, just give me anything,” Doyoung breathes out, “Whatever you have, I don’t care.”

Doyoung keeps his eyes on the man’s tiny frame as he crosses the room and disappears down a hallway. He returns shortly after. He steers Doyoung towards the sofa in the middle of the room, and gently pushes him to sit down first before offering him a joint.

“This will help you relax,” he says, and his voice is soft, melodious, “You look like you need it.”

He lights the smoke for Doyoung, before settling down on the sofa himself. Doyoung doesn’t know how long they spend there, but as his mind starts calming down, he starts to realize he enjoys talking to the guy. His name is Taeil, and for some reason a lot of the things that he says make Doyoung laugh. (If that’s because of the weed or because he’s genuinely funny, Doyoung has no idea, but what he knows is that it’s been too long since he last laughed in earnest. It leaves him feeling hollow, after he finally catches his breath.)

By the time sun starts to set, Yuta still hasn’t returned home, so Doyoung asks Taeil for the pills. He doesn’t know the names of the ones Yuta gives him, but they’re good enough to numb him, usually. Taeil puts together an assortment for him in a small plastic bag and presses it into Doyoung’s waiting palm when he’s seeing him off. Doyoung retrieves the money from his pocket, and Taeil takes only half of the sum offered, giving the rest back to him.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” he tells Doyoung, “Come see me again sometime.”

Doyoung promises he will. He figures he’s going to need to buy more pills eventually, after all.

🐉

He does see Taeil and Yuta again, a few weeks later.

He’s on his way from their apartment to the hotel in the night, when he sees him. A flash of white and yellow in Doyoung’s peripheral vision, caught just from the very corner of his eye. Down the street to the left of him, under one of the many neon signs, leaning with one hand against the wall.

Doyoung’s favorite fighter.

He’s been to see him at the fighting ring a few more times in the last few weeks. He won all the matches he was in. One of those times, Doyoung allowed himself to bet on him, and won a good sum of his money back.

As Doyoung watches, the fighter stumbles. He manages to stay upright, but it seems like it’s with considerate effort, his hands fighting to find purchase at the wall.

Doyoung’s legs move before his mind can catch up with him.

Once he’s close enough, he sees that the fighter has closed his eyes. Doyoung comes to a stop next to him and asks, “Are you okay?”

The fighter opens his eyes slowly, blinks a few times before he can focus on Doyoung’s face in front of him. His expression betrays confusion for a splinter of a second before he answers, “I’m fine.”

One of his hands slips then, and Doyoung reacts on instinct, hands shooting forward to catch him before he falls.

The fighter flinches out of his hold, a growl escaping his mouth, “Don’t touch me.”

Doyoung lets his hands fall to his sides, “Sorry.”

The guy regards him for a moment, then says in a milder tone, “I’ll be okay, just give me a minute.”

Doyoung nods, not sure what else to do. He feels awkward just standing around, but he doesn’t want to leave the guy alone. They spend what feels like a lifetime in complete silence, while the fighter breathes through whatever is making him dizzy or nauseous, but eventually some color returns to his face and he seems less like he’s going to fall over if he tries walking down the street.

He fixes his eyes on Doyoung again, and now they appear sharper, “What’s your name?”

“Doyoung,” Doyoung answers simply. “Yours?”

His question goes by ignored, but he gets a smile in response. Something about it makes Doyoung feel a tinge of unease, “You’re new here, right, Doyoung? You’re not from around here.”

“You could say that,” Doyoung says, “How can you tell?”

“Lucky guess,” the fighter shrugs his shoulders, “You can call me Taeyong.”

“Okay, Taeyong,” Doyoung tries the name out on his tongue, and likes the taste of it, “Where are you headed?”

Taeyong hums, like he’s pondering the question. In the end he settles on, “Home, I guess.”

“Then let me walk you home.” Doyoung offers, without really thinking about it.

Taeyong gets that confused expression on his face once again, like he’s not sure why Doyoung is still standing there speaking to him, “I am perfectly fine walking home on my own.”

“I’d believe that if I didn’t just see you almost eat shit on the floor,” Doyoung answers, and waits. He’s not sure why he wants to do this, but now that he’s here, it just doesn’t feel right to leave Taeyong alone in the state that he’s in. (Dilated pupils, sheen on his skin, a bit of a bewildered expression on his face. He’s seen it all before. Back then, Doyoung was the only person that always made sure Gongmyung would make it back home alright. Left to his own devices, Doyoung’s brother would rather opt to spend the night on a dirty floor in an alleyway. Someone had to be there to take care of him.)

“How chivalrous you are,” Taeyong says, sarcastic, “I said I don’t need your help.”

Taeyong meets Doyoung’s gaze, and there is challenge in his eyes. It’s almost like he expects Doyoung to fight him on it, to push, and he can notice his body tense as if Taeyong prepares for having to fight Doyoung off. But Doyoung has no need fight, and even though he doesn’t want to, he gives ground, “If you’re certain.”

“I am,” Taeyong bits back, but he relaxes, some of the tension slipping off his frame, “Now get lost.”

So Doyoung leaves.

(Taeyong is on his mind, late into the night. Doyoung can’t fall asleep, thinking of him, wondering if he made it home alright, wishing he did.

When he manages to catch a wink of sleep at last, he dreams of his uncle. When Doyoung was running away, his first instinct was to go to his relatives. He was too late. He found his uncle in a bloody mess on the floor, dead. The scene in the dream is the same; except this time, it is Doyoung himself that pulls the trigger.)

🐉

Doyoung asks Taeil about the fighting ring. He figures Taeil is the person least likely to care about why he wants to know about it.

“You’ve been to see the show?” Taeil asks, his legs strewn over Doyoung’s lap.

“A couple times,” Doyoung answers, and takes the offered blunt from Taeil’s fingers.

“Didn’t think that’d be something that would interest you,” Taeil huffs out a laugh.

Doyoung doesn’t tell him it’s not the fighting that captured his attention.

“I’ve never been, but I heard they make good money off it every week,” Taeil says. “You wanna try?”

“No,” Doyoung shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to fight. His father wanted him to learn, but Doyoung always did better with strategy than combat.

“Good,” Taeil tells him, “No offense, but you look like you’d get your ass handed to you.”

Doyoung doesn’t argue with him about it.

🐉

The next time Doyoung bets on Taeyong, Taeyong loses the match.

It’s the first time Doyoung sees that happen. This time his opponent is someone else, not the younger boy with blond streaks in his hair; this one is taller, bigger, bulkier. For the most part, the match seems weighted evenly, but eventually the other guy gets the upper hand, slams Taeyong to the ground, and Taeyong doesn’t get up quick enough for the match to go on.

Doyoung’s heart is in his throat, when he sees Taeyong get to his feet and stumble out of the ring. The other guy helps him put his jacket on and walks with him through the crowd. Other fighters come into the ring for another round, but Doyoung pays them no mind. He trails Taeyong and the other guy with his eyes, sees them cross the room and exit through a door Doyoung didn’t realize was there. A moment later, the other fighter returns into the room alone.

Doyoung considers it for a second and then makes a decision.

The door leads to an alley. He finds Taeyong there, sitting on an old wooden box and leaning against a wall at his back, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

Taeyong looks up at the sound of the door opening and seems surprised to see Doyoung there (again). “Oh, it’s you,” he says, and then, “Do you have a lighter?”

“Uh, yeah,” Doyoung pats himself in search of one, finding it in his pants pocket. (He started carrying it around, now that he and Taeil hang out together to smoke almost every other day.) “Here.”

Taeyong takes it from him. His hands are covered in bandages. Doyoung sees bits of blood seeping through the places where his knuckles are. Taeyong lights his cigarette, inhales, and exhales with his eyes closed. He sits still for a moment, then he opens his eyes and points at the free space next to him, a clear gesture directed at Doyoung. “Sit down.”

Doyoung does as he’s told.

Taeyong gives him his lighter back. Doyoung takes it from his elegant fingers. Looking at Taeyong’s face, he notes the hints of bruises forming on his temple and the corner of his eye.

“Are you okay?” the question slips out from between his lips.

Taeyong meets his eyes, waves a hand in dismissal, “Fine. Just had the breath knocked out of me.”

“Does it hurt?” he asks, pointing to Taeyong’s face. He doesn’t really know where the words are coming from, but it’s too late to take them back.

Taeyong shrugs, takes a drag of his cigarette, exhales, “Not really. I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t expect you to lose today,” Doyoung confesses, “I bet on you to win.”

One corner of Taeyong’s mouth lifts up, the tiniest bit, “Sorry about your money, then.”

Doyoung is about to answer when the door opens again, revealing the fighter from before. The only reaction he has to seeing Doyoung sit next to Taeyong out in the alley is a rise of a brow. He addresses Taeyong, “You ready to go? Jaehyun’s waiting.”

Doyoung freezes at hearing the name, only because he doesn’t expect to hear it so suddenly. He has enough presence of mind to not react any more than that.

Though he’s not yet done with it, Taeyong snuffs his cigarette out, and gets to his feet. Before he and his friend leave, Taeyong throws Doyoung one last glance over his shoulder, “Come see me again next week. I’ll help you get your money back.”

Doyoung has no time to tell him that money or not, he was already planning on coming to see him again anyway.

🐉

The last time Doyoung saw Jaehyun, Jaehyun was twelve years old. Their families were on good terms back then; the Jungs and the Kims used to meet up, frequently did business together. The kids weren’t allowed to meet often, but he and Jaehyun met a couple of times.

Then the Jung family split. It fractured into branches, and Jaehyun and his father were casted aside. Doyoung’s family, since then, did deals only with the main branch. The other branches weren’t interesting for them. Doyoung didn’t think he would ever see Jaehyun again.

He thinks about it while he walks home that night. Taeyong’s friend said Jaehyun’s name; could it be _the_ Jaehyun, isn’t it too much of a perfect coincidence? Doyoung knows that this city is his – that is, it’s Jaehyun’s territory, his district – and he knows that Jaehyun is living here somewhere. Knew before he ever got there. It was why he picked it in the first place. He figured that since it was the Jung family that got rid of all of Doyoung’s own family and was now looking for him, even though Jaehyun isn’t associated with them directly, they wouldn’t expect him to hide in a Jung’s part of the country.

So far, it seems he was right to assume so. He didn’t seek Jaehyun out – had no urge to – and he never caught sight of anyone suspicious out on the streets.

If Taeyong is indeed somehow associated with Jaehyun, what does it mean for Doyoung? He ponders this. Should he meet Taeyong again, should he risk it? There’s a good chance that Jaehyun will recognize Doyoung when he sees him, and Doyoung has no idea what he might decide to do with him – does Jaehyun hate his relatives enough to let Doyoung stay and not alert them to his whereabouts, or will he think it an opportunity to get acknowledgment from the family that threw him away?

By the time he makes it to his room, the only thing he’s sure of is that he wants to meet Taeyong again. Risky or not, he doesn’t think he can force himself to stay away now. (And there’s still a part of him that doesn’t care about any of it – even if it does turn out to be Jung Jaehyun that is Taeyong’s friend, a part of Doyoung just wants to finally meet him face to face and get the whole thing over with already. The worst thing he or his family can do to him, they’ve already done. Doyoung doesn’t really have anything else to lose anymore.)

🐉

He doesn’t know who else to ask about Jaehyun. He figures Taeil is his safest bet, again.

“He’s alright, I guess,” Taeil says in his usual, uninvolved way, “Lets us do our business, as long as he gets his share. Sometimes he buys from us himself.”

Doyoung asks, “What about his friends and family?”

“His family lives elsewhere. As for friends, he doesn’t have that many, as far as I know,” Taeil answers, “Keeps to himself, mostly. I never saw him with anyone else besides those two fighters he always keeps around.”

“Fighters?” Doyoung asks, even as his throat constricts. He hopes he doesn’t sound too much like he can’t breathe.

“You must have seen them during one of the fighting shows, I’m sure,” Taeil gives him a look, “Johnny and Taeyong?”

Doyoung doesn’t know who Johnny is, but he thinks he can take a pretty good guess. He has to force the words out of his mouth, “Yeah, I know them.”

“There isn’t a person in the city that wouldn’t know who they are,” Taeil smiles. “Jung’s very pride and joy, I hear.”

Doyoung can see why they would be.

🐉

He takes a double dose of his usual pills, just to take the nervous edge off, the night he goes see Taeyong again. It helps; by the time he reaches the fighting ring, his insides have stopped squirming.

Taeyong stays true to his words. He wins the match. As soon as Taeyong gets out of the ring, Doyoung moves across the room. He wants to talk to him, the urge of it burning within him.

He finds Taeyong at the opposite end of the room. Too focused on Taeyong, he notices too late the person standing next to him. Taller, bigger, older than he saw him last, face chiseled, sharp and different than Doyoung recalls, but unmistakable.

Jaehyun just so happens to catch his eye, then. Doyoung fights the impulse to turn around and run even as breath leaves his lungs.

Doyoung waits, but even as he comes closer to them, Jaehyun doesn’t say anything. For a second Doyoung wonders if he doesn’t remember him, after all, but another glance at Jaehyun’s expression wipes those thoughts clean off his mind. Jaehyun’s look is calculating, thoughtful, and knowing.

“There you are,” Taeyong’s voice filters into Doyoung’s mind, and Doyoung focuses on him instead. “We’re gonna go out and get some drinks, you wanna come with us?”

The question surprises Doyoung into momentary silence. He throws Jaehyun a quick glance, before answering, “Are you sure?”

Taeyong, noticing Doyoung’s nervousness, lets out a breathy laugh, “Nothing to be afraid of. We’re all friends here.”

“That’s not it,” Doyoung lets himself say, and the word _friend_ rings around in his head and settles in his skin. He fights to not let it cloud his judgment in that moment. He offers, “Perhaps next time.”

Taeyong searches his face for a few seconds, then shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

Doyoung is left standing in place staring after their backs as they leave.

🐉

The following morning, he finds the other fighter – Johnny, Doyoung’s sleep addled brain supplies – knocking on his hotel room door, waking him up from his sleep.

“The boss would like to speak with you,” Johnny says in lieu of greeting as soon as Doyoung manages to drag himself out of bed and open the door.

“Uh,” Doyoung wishes the sentence would sound less like an order that he cannot refuse.

Johnny raises a brow at him, “Now?”

“Fine, fine,” Doyoung assents, making a vague gesture with his hand, “Just let me get dressed first.”

Doyoung puts on his clothes as quickly as he can, and then Johnny leads him out into the street, where a black car is idling at the curb.

Johnny holds the door open for Doyoung to get in. Doyoung almost expects Jaehyun to be sitting in the backseat waiting for him, but the car is vacant.

Johnny walks around and gets in at the driver’s side. The ride to Jaehyun’s house goes by in silence; Johnny doesn’t talk to Doyoung except to tell him to _relax, boss just wants to talk to you, he’s not going to kill you_ , and Doyoung is content to stare out the window at the city passing by and ignore him after that.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at their destination. The house they park in front of seems modern and elegant; it does betray wealth, but it doesn’t flaunt it.

Johnny leads Doyoung into the lobby. Doyoung lets himself look around, lets his gaze glide over all the sleek, dark wood furniture.

“This way,” Johnny tells him, and leads him through the house to what Doyoung can only assume to be Jaehyun’s office. The door is open. Johnny stops just short of stepping in. “Sir, he’s here.”

Doyoung peers into the room. It seems spacious, but not overly decorated, like the rest of the house. Jaehyun sits behind the desk in the center, book in his hand, and on the wall behind him is mounted a painting of a roaring dragon in startling black and gold.

Jaehyun looks up from the book he’s reading, corners of his mouth lifting up when he spots Doyoung in the hallway. (Perhaps it’s the years they’ve spent apart, but Doyoung doesn’t remember Jaehyun’s smile ever looking quite so sharp around the edges.) “Doyoung. Come on in.”

Doyoung enters the room, and Johnny closes the door after him. He and Jaehyun find themselves alone.

“Have a seat,” Jaehyun motions in the direction of the plush chairs in front of his desk. “I thought we should talk. It’s been so long since we last met, it feels like a lifetime.” When Doyoung sits down, Jaehyun compliments him, “You look good.”

Doyoung takes in the meticulous cut of Jaehyun’s suit, the careful way his hair has been brushed back and styled, and feels like he’s being made fun of. He can’t remember the last time he brushed his hair. “So do you.”

“You know, I didn’t think we’d meet ever again,” Jaehyun leans back in his chair, casual, “I can’t say that I wasn’t surprised to see you yesterday. That you’d come to my city, and apparently start befriending my family,” he angles his head to the side, like he’s curious about something.

He seems to be waiting for an answer, even though he didn’t ask a question, so Doyoung says, with all the learned confidence he’s not really feeling, “I didn’t know he was one of yours.” Had he known that, he would have done anything in his power to avoid Taeyong. (Possibly. Most likely.)

“I believe you,” Jaehyun nods, “I know that you’re not stupid. Although,” he pauses, and Doyoung waits. “I just can’t really figure out why you’re here.”

Doyoung takes in a breath, “You know what happened, right?”

“I’ve heard about it,” Jaehyun admits, “But I had nothing to do with it.”

Doyoung is aware of that. “I’m not saying you did. But this is still Jung land.” He notes that the easy smile falls off Jaehyun’s face, but he goes on, “I figured it’d be a while before they started looking for me here.”

A silent moment passes. “You’re right,” says Jaehyun in the end, “I certainly didn’t expect to find you here.”

“So what will you do?” Doyoung decides to ask. Might as well, when he’s already in Jaehyun’s office. “Now that you’ve found me?”

Jaehyun hums, like he’s thinking about it. “I don’t think I’ll do anything. I am not inclined to helping my relatives, and if they’re not smart enough to find you on their own, that is not my problem.”

And despite being resigned to his fate ever since he found Johnny at his doorstep, Doyoung feels relief wash all over him. “So you’ll allow me to stay?”

“Sure, you can stay,” Jaehyun nods, “I don’t really care what you do. Be careful, though. If they come a-knocking, I won’t help you.”

For Doyoung, that is good enough. There is another thing he wants to ask, “Does Taeyong know?” What he really means is, _did you tell him about our families?_ He hopes Jaehyun will understand.

“Taeyong isn’t interested in these matters, though I did tell him I would be meeting with you,” Jaehyun opens his book again. “Johnny will drive you back.”

Doyoung recognizes a dismissal when he hears one. Without another word, he gets to his feet, and exits the room.

🐉

Sometimes the pills don’t help. Sometimes the only thing Doyoung can do to drown out the noise in his head is fill his bathtub full of water and submerge himself under.

🐉

Another night, another match. Taeyong wins (against the brown-blond haired kid, who Doyoung came to learn is called Mark) and seeks Doyoung out when he gets out of the ring.

Doyoung instinctively looks around him, but Johnny or Jaehyun are nowhere to be seen. Taeyong stops right in front of him, icy hair messy from the fight, signature yellow jacket thrown over his shoulders, something sparkly over his eyelids.

They attract curious looks from the people in their vicinity, but Taeyong doesn’t seem to care, so Doyoung pretends not to either. Taeyong tells him, “Glad you came back. I was worried Jaehyun might have scared you away.”

It would take more than that to scare Doyoung away, at this point. “Is he here?”

“Just you and me today,” Taeyong gives him a smile, and Doyoung feels mesmerized, “Let’s get out of here.”

Taeyong already starts walking by the time he finishes the sentence. He doesn’t look behind him to see if Doyoung follows. (He does.)

“Where are we going?” Doyoung asks once they’re outside again.

“Doesn’t matter where. It’s about what you do, and who you’re with,” Taeyong answers, a glint in his eyes. “I’m going to show you a good time, Doyoung. You kind of look like you don’t know how to have fun on your own.”

He’s not wrong, but Doyoung isn’t about to say so. “And you do?”

The grin he gets in response is all-consuming, “Only one way to find out, right?”

🐉

Doyoung does end up having a lot of fun that night with Taeyong, even though at first, he didn’t believe that he would. There’s just something about Taeyong, though; something about the light that shines from within him, about the life he seems to exude into the space around him. Once Doyoung has a taste, he can’t get enough of it.

🐉

He learns bits and pieces about him, over time.

They are things that he picks up on. Things like: Taeyong likes to smoke, and he smokes a lot. He likes to have a few drinks, usually after his fighting matches. He also seems to not like it when people get too close into his personal space.

Then there are things Doyoung asks about, like: “How do you know Jaehyun?”

“We met when I was fifteen. I was living on the streets back then,” Taeyong answers, “He saved my life.”

Or: “Aren’t you tired, after the fight?” which gets him a laugh in response, for some reason, “Not at all.”

Or, when Taeyong ends up bloody after a particularly vicious match, when the concern that overcomes Doyoung surprises even himself, “Why do you do it?”

He doesn’t get an answer immediately, though. Instead he gets a question in turn, “Do you know how to fight, Doyoung?”

He wasn’t ever interested, before. “No.”

“Then let me show you,” Taeyong offers.

🐉

There is a training room in the basement of Jaehyun’s house. There are mats in the center of it. Various equipment sits on shelves alongside one of the walls. Taeyong puts on training clothes and then gives Doyoung his own training uniform to change into. He warms up while Doyoung changes, then guides Doyoung through warm-ups, and then slowly, patiently teaches him what Doyoung believes are the basics.

After about an hour, they take a break. Doyoung feels a tiny bit sore and out of breath, but it’s a good kind of pain. They’re lying on the mat, side by side, shoulders almost pressed together; so close Doyoung feels the heat of Taeyong’s skin against his own.

“Where did you learn?” he asks Taeyong, when the silence gets to be too much.

“After Jaehyun took me in, I asked Johnny to teach me,” Taeyong says, voice low, “And now I just like doing it. Here,” he pushes himself up to sit, and Doyoung follows suit.

Taeyong takes one of Doyoung’s hand into his own by the wrist. “You asked me why I do this. This is why.” He presses Doyoung’s palm against his chest, and at first Doyoung doesn’t understand but then he picks up on the quickened pace of his heartbeat. Doyoung feels it in his fingers, _tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump_ , “It makes me feel alive.”

Doyoung nods, not trusting himself to speak. Taeyong lets go of his hand and gets to his feet. “Let’s go again.”

🐉

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Taeil accuses him when Doyoung shows up at his and Yuta’s apartment. (He needs his refill, but he realized he missed Taeil’s light voice, too.) “Where have you been?”

“With Taeyong, mostly.” Taeyong took him across town, showed him different places, introduced him to different people (there are names like Mark, Kun, Sicheng, Yangyang, Jeno, all floating around Doyoung’s skull, but half of them he’s not able to assign to faces). The rest of the week he spent scattered, in his room, in his head. He can’t recall what he’s been doing when he wasn’t hanging out with Taeyong.

“The fighter?” Taeil asks, and when Doyoung confirms with a nod, he gets an incredulous laugh in return, “You’re a fucking weirdo, Doyoung, has anyone ever told you that?”

“For making a friend?” he asks, not getting what Taeil means.

“No, this is not just anyone,” Taeil shakes his head, “How did you manage to befriend him? Everyone in the city knows he’s untouchable. No one would even dare approach him.”

Doyoung shrugs. He’s not really sure himself how he and Taeyong came to be friends.

“Weirdo,” Taeil repeats, not unkindly.

Doyoung ponders the truth of what Taeil said ( _untouchable, no one would dare_ ) and feels something bright, hot and sweltering come alive in his chest.

🐉

How did they become friends? It seems like it has less to do with anything Doyoung has done in an effort to befriend Taeyong (and that wasn’t much – watching him fight from the very end of the room hardly classifies) and more with Taeyong (and subsequently, Jaehyun) allowing Doyoung into his life.

Doyoung has a feeling Taeyong isn’t a person that trusts others easily.

 _And how could he?_ Doyoung thinks wryly. He doesn’t know much about Taeyong’s life before Jaehyun took him under his protection, but the bits and pieces he managed to learn, things Taeyong confessed to him during the last few weeks, are enough to chill Doyoung to the core. ( _I don’t know who my real parents are_ and _All my foster parents were real assholes_ and _There are always people who will only take what they want and not care about anything else_ and _I ran away when I was fourteen.)_

Still, Taeyong can find it within himself to laugh every day. He can talk about it like it bears no weight on him, like he’s commenting on the weather instead of talking about something so grave and so cruel. Doyoung finds it fascinating.

🐉

They usually crash at Doyoung’s hotel room, when they’re out in the middle of the night.

Exhausted, they pass out on Doyoung’s bed, lying over the covers, fully dressed. The mornings after are painted with pain behind Doyoung’s eyelids and sick in his stomach. Sometimes he rolls out of bed and walks to the bathroom only to find Taeyong there already, leaning over the toilet.

As much as Doyoung loves the nights, these mornings he equally hates. Doyoung’s body is used to pills, but it is used to _his_ pills; the ones that numb, quiet down, subdue. The stuff Taeyong gives him does the exact opposite – it heightens, enhances, intensifies. Doyoung is used to getting by dragging his feet over the ground, not flying in the clouds. From that far up, the fall hurts much more.

🐉

Sometimes he is woken up, when Taeyong stirs next to him. It’s always when he’s moving Doyoung’s arm away from his body, an arm that Doyoung unknowingly managed to throw over Taeyong’s form in his restless sleep. He mumbles _sorry_ to him and gets a noncommittal hum in response before Taeyong turns on his side, his back to Doyoung, and falls back asleep.

There are times, though, when he gets up, and walks across the room to the window. Doyoung watches him smoke, several cigarettes in a row, before he returns to the bed.

(One of these nights, Doyoung asks him, no more than a breath in the room, “What’s wrong?”

Taeyong shakes his head, a quiet refusal.)

🐉

They don’t hang out at Jaehyun’s house much, (where Taeyong has a room, Doyoung learns, and then feels stupid, because where else would he live?) but they do have sparring session in the training room at least twice a week.

Doyoung comes to look forward to sparring with Taeyong, almost as much as the actual matches Taeyong still has every week. (The fights between Doyoung and Taeyong are light, just ghosts of proper matches, but Doyoung is quickly learning everything Taeyong teaches him.)

Sometimes, Mark joins them. Sometimes, Jaehyun’s lackeys join them (their names and faces, Doyoung remembers. Jungwoo and Donghyuck.) Sometimes, Johnny joins them.

Taeyong and Johnny go through a couple rounds, and even though it’s only practice, they never pull any punches. Doyoung doesn’t really like it, but he figures he has no say in the matter. (And after, he can’t really bring himself to say anything. Taeyong’s face shines brightest after these matches.)

“Johnny’s really good,” Doyoung comments one day, when Taeyong sits down next to him to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, “Best I’ve ever seen.”

“He has yet to win a match against me,” Johnny tells Doyoung, apparently picking up on their conversation even though he was at the other end of the room.

Taeyong throw back at him, “I’ll beat you one day.”

Johnny’s smirk seems to take up his entire face. “I’m looking forward to it.”

🐉

Sometimes Taeyong asks Doyoung to join them for dinner at Jaehyun’s house. It’s usually Jaehyun, Taeyong, Johnny and Doyoung; but sometimes Jungwoo and Donghyuck are there as well, all sat behind a large, mahogany dinner table.

Despite never actively doing so, Doyoung gets to know all of them a bit more, as time naturally passes. Jungwoo and Donghyuck work as a duo (Doyoung cannot recall a time he’s seen only one or the other; they’re always together) and do anything and everything that Jaehyun requires of them. Johnny, from what Doyoung gathers, is Jaehyun’s right hand man, but also seems to be his friend. He seems aloof, but often he cracks jokes. Then there is Jaehyun himself, and though he is different than he was when he and Doyoung were kids, Doyoung still spots some of that child within him, whether it be in the dimples in his cheeks, or the pleasant, soothing tone of his voice.

They are a family, no matter how strange or mismatched. What’s striking, for Doyoung, is that for some reason, he was also allowed into their circle. They have taken him in, accepted him, without protest; even Jaehyun.

It leaves him feeling complicated. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

🐉

They’re in Doyoung’s room, Doyoung lying on the bed. Taeyong is standing in front of the open window, smoking a cigarette, when he tells Doyoung quite unexpectedly, “I’m sorry about your family.”

Doyoung turns his head to look at him, taken aback. He hasn’t told him – he hasn’t told anyone – about what happened. The only other person except for Doyoung that knew was Jaehyun. Doyoung swallows, “Jaehyun told you?”

Taeyong doesn’t look at him. He’s staring straight ahead, out of the window, a thoughtful, clouded expression on his face. (Doyoung’s seen it before, numerous times, but couldn’t ever figure out what it meant.) “No,” Taeyong says after a while, “No, he didn’t tell me.”

Doyoung waits for him to continue. He does. “You talk when you’re fucked up, did you know?” Taeyong asks, taking one last drag of his smoke, then putting it out on the windowsill. “I guess you don’t remember.”

Doyoung stares at him, motionless. He doesn’t remember – there are a lot of things that he doesn’t remember from quite a lot of their time together. These blackouts happen when Doyoung allows himself to use too much, when he chases pills with alcohol; he didn’t think it mattered much. He might have been wrong.

“What did I say?” he asks, voice coming out steady even when he feels suffocated.

“A lot,” Taeyong says, and finally turns his head to look back at him. When he speaks, it’s softer, gentle around the edges, “You told me you missed them. You told me what the Jungs did to them. That they’re still looking for you, too, as if that wasn’t enough for them.”

It takes Doyoung two tries to find his voice again, “It’s true.”

“You did the right thing, coming here,” Taeyong says, “Jaehyun isn’t going to let them get to you.”

Doyoung wonders just how much he told Taeyong about the situation and figures it must have been everything. “He said he wouldn’t help me if they did.”

“He says that, but the Jaehyun I know saves people,” Taeyong replies, and there isn’t any doubt in his voice.

Doyoung doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

🐉

“So what is between him and you?” Taeil asks.

Doyoung doesn’t think he’s able to answer that question. He ponders it – not for the first time – and still it’s not any clearer. They are friends, they understand each other. Their understanding seems to go beyond words. Sometimes Doyoung gets the feeling there might be more, but there’s never enough of it to be sure.

So he shrugs, and answes honestly “I don’t know.”

🐉

It worms its way into his brain, eats at him from the inside. It is insistent, a dire itch under his skin that he cannot scratch. He wants to ignore it, but he finds he is not as resolute as he thought.

So he asks one evening, “Why are you friends with me?”

Taeyong looks at him, surprised, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Doyoung tries to put his words in order, “Why did you want to become my friend?”

Taeyong says, “I don’t know. You were interesting. You…” Then he pauses, like he’s thinking about what he’s about to say, “The day that we met, you didn’t know who I was. It was a while since that last happened to me. It was refreshing.”

Doyoung asks, “That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Taeyong shrugs, “People in this city know who I am, because they know who Jaehyun is. He’s got nothing to do with the rest of that family, but he still carries their name. People fear him, you know. Sometimes that’s great, as it keeps the creeps away. But it can feel lonely.”

“I’m glad,” Doyoung manages to say, after he works around the lump that forms in his throat. “That you’re my friend.”

By the smile that makes its way to Taeyong’s lips, he might be glad too.

🐉

They’re out one night, doing what they do best. All of it is a blur in Doyoung’s mind; neon lights, Taeyong’s laughter, Doyoung’s dingy hotel room, the alcohol and everything else, all becoming one.

And then, there is nothing. At least for a while.

Doyoung blinks his eyes open, not aware of ever closing them, or falling asleep. He feels stuffy, limbs heavy, head hazy. He feels a hint of a sting on his cheek, and there is something else, wet over his face, his hair, parts of his body.

He comes back to himself in increments. He becomes aware of things one after the other: He’s half lying on the bed, his feet dangling off. He is still fully dressed, boots included. His head is posited on something, harder than a pillow. His eyelids feel heavy. There are fingers in his hair, gently running over his skin.

And then he remembers.

He struggles to open his eyes. It takes him a few tries before he can withstand the light of the lamp on the bedside table.

Doyoung finds his head in Taeyong’s lap, and Taeyong leaning above him. Their eyes meet; Taeyong’s are all red and raw around the rims.

“What happened?” Doyoung asks, voice weaker than usual.

Taeyong wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “You passed out.” He adds, “Scared me.”

Doyoung reaches with one hand towards Taeyong’s face, but his mind catches up with him before he can make contact. He lets his hand drop onto the bed instead. “I didn’t meant to.”

Taeyong nods, but the pained expression remains on his face. Doyoung says, “I’m fine.”

Feeling has returned into his limbs, the fog in his brain has somewhat cleared. He feels alright, all things considered. He feels like he usually does.

There is something in Taeyong’s gaze just then, something Doyoung doesn’t understand. Then Taeyong closes his eyes and tells him, an exhale, “Just don’t do it again.”

Doyoung wants to take another look in his eyes, to figure out what’s been hiding in there, but when Taeyong opens his eyes again it’s gone.

🐉

After that, Doyoung gets the feeling that Taeyong is mad at him.

He doesn’t notice at first. It takes a few days for Doyoung to realize that something is off.

They still meet, still talk, still hang out, but it’s different. Taeyong wants to stay in all the time now, doesn’t want to go out. He takes Doyoung into the training room every single day, he lets Doyoung into his room where they lounge on the bed and watch movies on the television mounted on the wall.

When Doyoung asks if they’re going to do anything in the evening, Taeyong wraps his fingers around Doyoung’s wrist like he’s trying to keep him from going off on his own, “Can’t we watch a movie instead?”

And that is what they do.

The movies become boring after a while. Doyoung opts to watch Taeyong’s face instead, and he notes the pinched expression on his face, the way he chewed down on every single one of his nails, and the way his entire body seems to be tense.

🐉

What’s most surprising, perhaps, is that when they’re lying side by side in Taeyong’s bed, Taeyong reaches for him – takes Doyoung’s hand into his own, twines their fingers together, or if they’re about to fall asleep, puts his head on Doyoung’s shoulder, and puts Doyoung’s own arms over his body, so that he's enveloped in Doyoung’s hold.

Doyoung doesn’t understand why. He knows that Taeyong doesn’t like casual touch; isn’t stupid to not notice the signs, all the distance Taeyong keeps from other people except when he’s in the fighting ring, all the times he flinches when someone accidentally brushes against him. Taeyong told him, even, the first time they met, _don’t touch me._ Doyoung always has the words somewhere at the back of his mind.

So he doesn’t know why this is allowed. Maybe it’s his heart that beats so viciously in his chest, almost until Doyoung feels like exploding with it, that makes him finally ask, “Is this okay?”

The answer is only a breath, muffled by the fabric of Doyoung’s shirt, “It’s okay if it’s you.”

🐉

Doyoung doesn’t figure out why Taeyong is mad until Taeyong tells him.

He finds him smoking in the garden, after dinner. Doyoung is practically living at Jaehyun’s house now – got his own room, too, though he spends the night in Taeyong’s room anyway. He was talking to Jaehyun for a while (not something they did often, but it is becoming more and more frequent), Taeyong by their side, when Jaehyun suggested going out, to have fun.

Taeyong said no. When asked about why, he exited the room without an answer.

Doyoung approaches slowly, but he lets Taeyong know that he’s there. Taeyong doesn’t turn to look at him. He’s sitting on a bench, cigarette between his fingers, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

He sits down next to him. For a while they sit in silence. Taeyong finishes his smoke and lights another one right away.

“Are you still mad about what happened the other day?” Doyoung asks. He trusts that Taeyong will know what he means.

“You could say that,” Taeyong answers.

“I said I was sorry,” Doyoung says, “You know I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I still don’t want it to happen again.”

“So now we can’t go out and have fun, because of that one time?”

“You don’t get it,” Taeyong says, a bit of heat leaking into his voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, then begins, almost conversationally, “Do you know how many times you’ve told me you wanted to die? When you were lying on the ground that night, I thought you actually would. It scared the shit out of me.”

Doyoung is left staring at him, at a loss for words. What comes out is, in the end, “What?”

“You talk so much, and you never fucking remember any of it,” Taeyong scoffs, an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, “I didn’t think you were serious, at first. Then I realized you meant it.” Taeyong shakes his head, “I am not letting you kill yourself, Doyoung, not if I have any say in it.”

“I didn’t—” Doyoung starts, but he cannot bring himself to finish.

“You didn’t what? Actively attempt to take your life that night?” Taeyong asks, finally looking at Doyoung.

Doyoung is the first to look away. He can’t bring himself to meet Taeyong’s eyes when he knows that Taeyong is right.

Doyoung did want to die, for the longest time. He never sought death out, but he knows he wouldn’t have minded if it were to happen to him on its own. Sometimes he went to sleep with the thought that if he was lucky enough, he wouldn’t get to wake up in the morning, but luck wasn’t ever on his side.

Taeyong lets him take his hand when Doyoung reaches for it. He presses the back of it to his lips. He hopes that it can convey his apology, and perhaps more that Doyoung cannot bring himself to say.

Taeyong asks, quiet, “Do you really have nothing to live for?”

Months ago, Doyoung would say no. But now – he has friends now, and he has found himself another family too, against all odds.

But it’s still complicated, the storm that rages within his heart.

“Then let me ask this of you,” Taeyong goes on, squeezing Doyoung’s hand in his so hard it turns painful, “Live for me. Just until you can find something of your own.”

Doyoung almost has to close his eyes. “I don’t know if I can.”

Taeyong says, “Just give it time.”

And Doyoung simply nods. Even if he is not convinced, he figures that at the very least, he owes Taeyong that much.

Taeyong finishes his cigarette, and Doyoung lets him lead him back inside the house.

🐉

**Author's Note:**

> there will be a part 2 at some point and perhaps itll be jaedotae who knows  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/neocxxlture)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kunyongx)


End file.
